Quidditch action! Just cause we need a little light entertainment from all the heaviness, no? Sorry for the late update, this month has been difficult for me. I did not respond to all of you like I wanted, though I thank each and every one of you for taking the time to tell me what you think. I truly appreciate it.
Enjoy. – Typos in this chapter, sorry
21. Chapter Twenty-One
Sirius was right.
The stadium was full.
Located in the observation box with the Gryffindor and Slytherin team, Harry gazed out into the Pitch. Below, the fans poured into the stands and situated themselves for the game. Up here, in the observation box, a selected number of people could mingle with the Quidditch players before the game. Autographs, photographs, and petty conversation took place behind him.
He couldn't stand it.
He had places to be. He had to hunt Stratton. The man was nowhere in Britain, that much Harry knew from his searches.
His hands clenched repetitively at his sides as he heard the inane chatter. There weren't many children at the game, simply because it was geared for the adult audience with the violent match, the wagering, and the booze. However, that certainly didn't stop the adults from herding toward their favorite Quidditch players like children.
Oliver Wood truly knew what he was doing when he brainstormed ways to raise money for Hogwarts. Everything worked out flawlessly. Harry knew they'd draw a crowd with a throwback match between Gryffindor and Slytherin, only because the majority of the players were now in the professional circuit. However, he hadn't figured it would be this popular.
He also knew Viktor Krum was the reserve Seeker for Slytherin. That probably explained the large turnout.
"You don't need to look so amicable, you know," a voice sounded beside him.
Harry glanced at Hermione, surprised to see her approach him on her own, freewill. And without Ron or Ginny. She wore a simple coat with a Gryffindor scarf and mittens, a far more subtle decision on fan gear than the other spectators. Her expression was neutral, though she looked at him as if he were a lost soul.
Sighing, he looked back out at the Pitch.
"There are several people who are eager to meet you, Harry. You don't need to isolate yourself. I've seen dozens of fans wearing your old jersey from the English National team." Hermione placed her hands in her coat pocket. "You always did have a large fan base, no matter what it was you did."
There was a double meaning behind that comment.
Harry slanted a look in her direction, utterly unamused. "Many would say I do the right thing."
A flush stained her cheekbones. "I wanted to talk to you about that."
"Hardly the setting to do so," Harry countered without missing a beat.
He turned, catching the eyes of both McGonagall and Riddle as they conversed amongst each other. The old Headmistress held up a hand in greeting, motioning him over. Before he even had the chance to consider, Hermione grabbed his arm and pulled him back. The force she extracted surprised him enough to give her attention.
"I need to say this now," she insisted quietly, yet sternly. "I've needed to say this." Her hand turned slack before she looped her arm around his. Slowly, she pulled him alongside her, strolling near the perimeter of the observation windows. "I've had more than enough time to think things through."
"I thought you already made your mind up about this whole ordeal. You said I needed help and that you'd try to grin and bear it for Ron and Ginny's sake." Harry's smile grew strained. "I remember, Hermione."
"No." She exhaled. "I just want to make something clear to you." Her dark eyes looked up at him. "I love you."
Harry quirked an eyebrow.
"Not, romantically," she clarified breathlessly, earning a soft, true smile from Harry. "You were always there for me at Hogwarts, especially those early years when I had trouble adjusting. The bond you and I shared, and then the bond we shared with Ron and Ginny… it's strong, Harry. I want to continue that, even if it has changed."
He pondered over her words. "We aren't children any longer, Hermione. You don't owe me anything."
"I know that," she insisted. "Nonetheless, I just want to clear the air. I don't like this distance between us." They stopped and gazed out the observation windows. "I don't agree with what you do, or more specifically, how you go about it. But when I look at it from your perspective, a part of me understands."
He took in her drawn eyebrows, her determined eyes, and her stubborn mouth. Harry knew that expression. He'd seen it many times throughout the years when she faced an enormous obstacle. Suddenly, unexpectedly, his chest warmed and he remembered the innocent days, he remembered her familiarity.
"I just want you—"
He took an abrupt hold of her hand and brought it to his lips, silencing her into shock. "When you found out about me, I was upset with you for not understanding. For not changing your beliefs to match mine. But, like you, I've had time to think on it as well. I've come to appreciate how much this world needs people like you. People who are genuine and truly want to help others."
She frowned. "Harry—"
"No, Hermione." Harry grinned, finally coming to terms with something he'd struggled with for a long while. "I wanted you to become me, and in doing so, it would have ruined you as well." He tightened his grip on her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "It's my job to protect you. Not the other way around."
"You're not a debauched martyr, Harry," she whispered.
"Perhaps. Though I've come to see myself differently these past few weeks." He dropped her hand. "I don't want to bring you into this lifestyle. If you want to do something to help, continue putting criminals in Azkaban. The less there are on the streets, the lighter my workload will be."
After diving into Riddle's world and discovering the layers of corruption and darkness, Harry realized that he was living in the wrong realm. He was trying to fit in with people like Sirius, Hermione, and Ron. He compared himself to them. When, in actuality, they were incomparable.
Though he felt separated from his loved ones, his sense of duty to protect them remained strong.
What was wrong walking amongst the dark if it meant keeping those in the light safe and wholesome? What did Riddle call it? A dark savior? Perhaps it was time to accept his role as the darkness and continue saving innocents.
Hermione stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss against his cheek. "I will always be here for you, Harry. Always." She pulled back and smiled, though it was bittersweet. "I heard Draco's father forbade him from participating in this match. I saw him skulking about somewhere… he'd be an easy target…"
Harry didn't know whether to be amused or scandalized that Hermione was encouraging him to prey on Malfoy. "You should know I only prefer difficult targets, Hermione."
He winked and turned, nearly running over a petite witch with wide, green eyes. Astoria Greengrass looked up at him, her eyes expressive, her entire face expressive. Seeing her brought back a wave of memories Harry wanted to bury deep within himself and never face again. However, Riddle's Occlumency lesson reminded him that it was necessary to view and accept memories before they took hold over his mind.
A small, lingering sense of longing swelled from Astoria. She wanted to say something to him, Harry knew, but they'd never met before in public, at least not formally.
Surprisingly, she did a smooth curtsey and ducked behind him.
"Hermione Granger?" her light, feminine voice inquired from behind Harry's shoulder. "I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Astoria Greengrass and I was interested in learning more about your line of profession."
Harry pressed his lips together in a smug smile, pleased at the strong and stubborn defiance emitting from the younger girl. She was not broken. Good. What she witnessed had apparently ignited the fire Harry had sensed within her. He wasn't attached, of course, merely… invested in her wellbeing.
"Potter."
Lazily, he looked up at McGonagall and Riddle, amused to see the old Headmistress' impatient beckoning. Over her shoulder, Harry locked eyes with Riddle. The Minister's expression was entirely stoic and professional, absolutely no sliver of familiarity as Harry approached. The man was good.
"Headmistress McGonagall," he greeted as he closed in on the pair. "And Minister Riddle."
"You've met Minister Riddle, haven't you, Potter?" McGonagall reached for Harry's shoulder as soon as he stopped next to her. "He and I taught at Hogwarts together before he transferred to the Ministry." She smiled thinly. "I was just telling him how much he will enjoy watching you fly. You are truly a work of art in the air."
A rare compliment from McGonagall, but she made it no secret that she enjoyed watching her Gryffindors on the Pitch.
Harry turned to look at Riddle, raising his eyebrows at the green and silver necktie. "I wasn't aware you supported the losing team, Minister." His lips twisted despite himself. Oh, he just couldn't resist it. "You always struck me as a smart man. I suppose all perceptions must be broken at some point."
Riddle's eyes flashed and then glittered hungrily.
McGonagall was oblivious to it, as it was gone before Harry could fully appreciate it.
"I don't know much about Quidditch, Mr. Potter," Riddle started easily, a false bravado. "However, I must support my House. Moreover, I heard Viktor Krum is quite the Seeker." He smiled. "One of the youngest Seekers of our time."
McGonagall appeared flustered at the comment. "Besides our own Harry Potter." Her hand clutched Harry's shoulder, a sign of both her loyalty and fierce competitive nature. "I have no doubt Mr. Potter will dominate Viktor Krum should he make an appearance as the Slytherin's reserve Seeker."
Riddle's eyebrows lifted. "I'll be looking forward to that domination, Potter."
The words went straight to his groin. He wouldn't deny it. A curious longing welled up inside Harry as he looked at the older wizard. There was something about Riddle he couldn't shake. He knew getting involved with the man was probably the stupidest thing he could do, yet he wanted it.
He wanted that dark possession, the sinful depravity.
"Well, I hope we can keep you both entertained this evening."
McGonagall flashed him a stern look, as if to say he'd better give it his all. She expected no less from him. "You've done a terrific job putting this event together, Potter. Hogwarts will always be indebted to you."
Harry glanced over her shoulder at the swarm of crimson clad Quidditch players. "I can't take all of the credit, Headmistress. Oliver Wood is the mastermind behind this event." He smiled. "Hogwarts has and always will be our home. It's the least we could do to show our support."
The Gryffindor team crowded around the bar, their voices growing in volume. Harry narrowed his eyes as he received smug looks from his team members. His suspicions only grew as Fred Weasley stood up on the bar and raised a shot glass in the air. It drew attention from all the occupants of the observation room.
"Pregame round on Potter!" Fred hollered.
Everyone looked to Harry, their eyes bright as they held their breath for confirmation. He couldn't help but to grin tightly, especially when strong disapproval emitted from McGonagall.
"Potter, you will not—"
Harry held up two fingers. "First two rounds are on me!" Cheers erupted and Harry smiled sweetly at McGonagall. "You included, Headmistress." He ducked out of her line of sight before she could lecture on the sheer stupidity of drinking before the game.
It would help take the edge off his teammates. Besides, seeing the horrified look on McGonagall was worth it.
. . Dreams . .
The pandemonium coming from the Pitch above was nearly deafening and the game hadn't even started yet. Again, Harry marveled at the popularity of Wood's throwback match. He supposed, had he been the same Harry he was three years ago, the idea would have been bloody wicked.
Now, he preferred following Riddle around in the basement tunnels.
He didn't know the moment their relationship changed from rivals to allies, but Harry somewhat missed stalking Riddle with unfriendly and curious intentions. Though he still saw the Dark Lord as a challenge and a mystery that needed solving, there was no longer an animalistic need to eliminate.
In its place was a hungry, yet eager insistence to claim and dominate. Which, he realized after thoughtful consideration, was equally, if not more thrilling than stalking a generic prey with unfriendly intentions.
Silently, he moved through the labyrinth of the stadium's basement, following him and his aura with practiced ease.
Understandably, there were also advantages to being allies instead of rivals. For one, he was closer than ever. It was to his benefit that the Dark Lord shared Harry's unhealthy obsession. They united resources and knowledge, and Harry was always on his toes with the man. Always looking over his shoulder, always comfortable in his own skin.
Not that he'd ever admit that to Riddle aloud.
"What has upset you?" the man murmured inquisitively from the shadows.
Harry gazed through the darkness and towards the tall figure across from him. He could discern the man's presence, his tone, however, remained vague. "The last time I checked, Riddle, I was the Empath, not you." He smiled tightly. "Is that why you lured me down here? To inquire about my frame of mind?"
"I would hardly call it luring on my part." Riddle stepped forward, the sharp planes of his face becoming evident in the dim lighting. "You followed me like an eager dog trailing his master."
"Or perhaps you're like a dog hoping his master will take the time to follow."
Harry perked up with interest as an amused Riddle stopped inches from him. If Harry so much flexed his fingers outward, they'd brush against the man's cloak. Such teasing distance was nearly agonizing.
What Harry wanted to do with the man… well, he knew Riddle reciprocated that desire.
Riddle could play coy all he wanted. He was quite good at remaining impassive and in control, but Harry knew, without a doubt, the man was simply obsessed and intrigued. He'd been obsessed ever since Custos became a threat to his Ministry. That obsession hadn't tapered since the reveal of Harry's identity. If anything, it had intensified.
As if no longer denying himself the temptation, the Dark Lord leaned forward and teased Harry with his proximity.
The man's lips just barely brushed against his before he moved his nose down into the crook of Harry's neck. He inhaled deeply, causing a shockwave of pleasure to dance down Harry's spine. A smooth, seductive hissing sounded from the man as he spoke Parseltongue into Harry's ear.
Harry exhaled deeply as Riddle's hands planted firmly on his hips. His own hands trembled at his sides as he resisted the urge to wrap them around the man and pull him flush against his chest.
"I have something to give you."
Riddle pulled back abruptly and Harry twitched at the withdrawal. Reaching out, he grabbed Riddle's green and silver tie. He fisted the silky material and pulled the man forward, pressing their lips together. His opposite hand raked through the man's thick tresses, soothing, and then yanking to apply pressure.
The man made a noise in his throat, similar to that of a satisfied, yet conniving kitten.
When Harry released him, he noticed the man no longer appeared dazed and surprised at Harry's blunt dominance as he had earlier in their… acquaintanceship. If anything, he looked pleased, as if he'd encouraged it himself.
"You're a tease," Harry whispered hoarsely.
"No," Riddle started slyly, a hint of dark sarcasm. "We must think of dear Ginevra. We cannot go any further, for you'd be committing infidelity."
Harry observed him narrowly, considering the bright crimson eyes and the god-awful devious expression. The man was the bloody antichrist as he threw Astoria Greengrass' words back at him. Harry needed to speak with Ginny, yes, he knew, but there hadn't been much time. Besides, she was making the move to Portugal.
"Awfully thoughtful and considerate of you, Riddle."
"Tom."
It took him aback, the name correction. Harry floundered for a moment, analyzing the motivations and reasons behind Riddle's request. Now, however, was not the time to analyze things in depth. "Riddle suits you better." He cocked his head and studied the man through lowered lids. "You wanted to give me something? Perhaps a pregame incentive? Or my next political target?"
Instead of responding, Riddle dug out a small container from his pocket. He waved his hand over it and it expanded in size.
"I was going to wait to give you this, but I grew too eager." Riddle blinked languidly at Harry, the picture of sophisticated laziness as he held out a box with runes etched on the sides.
They'd moved on to the gift-giving stage, Harry realized with muted horror. First-name basis and now gifts without negotiations or blackmail material. He wondered at that, wondered why it didn't bother him as much as he knew it should. Riddle certainly wasn't a bloody sap as he offered the gift. If anything, he appeared disinterested.
That much Harry was thankful for, as he would be at a loss if Riddle sprouted sentimental and appreciative comments.
With a neutral air, he accepted the box and opened the lid. "A wand," he stated nonchalantly. "With…" he trailed off, squinting closer at the wand.
As he reached for it, Riddle interrupted.
"Do not touch it yet. Bonding with the wand will take time."
Harry's hand hovered over the unique grey wand, his eyes tracing over the runes etched on the wood. They were similar to the runes on the box, but the more he looked at the markings, the more he realized they weren't runes. They were far too curvy.
"Parseltongue," Harry breathed, his pulse racing with startled realization. He looked up at the blasé Dark Lord, realizing the man had been observing him closely. "This—what kind of wand is this? I read Salazar constructed a few wands before his death. This isn't one of them, is it?"
"It is," Riddle replied with a hint of pride. "It is a Slytherin heirloom."
Veiling his expression, Harry stared at the man. In his hands, the box grew nearly unbearable with heaviness. He didn't want it. It had far too much value, especially considering he could barely tolerate the gift-giver at times. Granted, they were far closer than they were weeks ago, and yet…
"Do not see it as a gift, but rather a favor to me. It needs to be used. It hasn't been used in centuries," Riddle continued after Harry's persistent silence. He no doubt anticipated Harry's forthcoming refusal. "I believe you are the perfect wizard to wield it. It is almost as if it were made for you personally."
"Why don't you use it?"
Riddle reached out a pale hand and splayed it upon the open lid. Slowly, he closed it and smiled thinly. "It is temperamental, and above all else, very possessive." He tapped the lid. "It will bond with you and expect to be your only source of weaponry. Once you have fully bonded with it, it will turn into any weapon upon a mere thought, magical or muggle."
The Dark Lord removed his hands and raised both, as if surrendering to an unrelenting foe. "It is far too possessive for a Wizard who relies heavily on wandless magic." Here, the man paused and smirked, as if something amused him greatly. "You strike me as someone who can tolerate a great deal of possessiveness."
"Oh?" Harry inquired dryly.
"Yes. As long as the possessiveness doesn't become domineering. That's when you buck, and are rather delicious in your ferocity."
The words amused him greatly. "Are we still talking about magical weapons? Or has this turned into an in-depth analysis of why I'd be a compatible match to a possessive Dark Lord?"
"Magical weapons, I assure you," Riddle purred. "Though, it pleases me you use the term compatible."
Harry scoffed, trying to hide how much he enjoyed the man and the conversation. He looked down and away from the searching crimson eyes and touched the wooden box. The Dark Lord had successfully distracted Harry from William Stratton and the upcoming Quidditch match.
It was an impressive feat.
"I truly appreciate this," Harry said, motioning to the box. "I will use it to the best of my abilities." It made up for losing his dagger, wherever Braun had stashed it.
"What has you troubled?" Riddle questioned again, clearly not forgetting his earlier enquiry.
His mother's locket felt like a weight in his pocket. Harry's fingers bypassed the piece of jewelry as he withdrew his wand and shrunk Riddle's gift. He didn't want this conversation right now. Fortunately, before he had to respond, a resounding chime filled the Pitch and filtered to the lower levels of the arena.
"I am being summoned," Harry informed, a bit too happily.
As he turned to leave, a hand grabbed him by the forearm. "Come to my manor tonight. Spend the night," Riddle requested. "Tomorrow we will go speak to Roland Jarvis, your American Unspeakable that worked with your mother."
The request sent a chill down Harry's spine. He remained turned away from Riddle, though the man's hand on his arm remained firm and unyielding. Excitement and a sense of forbidding caused his stomach to spasm. "Are you denying me a chance to meet with Jarvis unless I sleep with you?" Harry asked dangerously.
The hand tightened and Riddle laughed lowly. "I am requesting your presence tonight, Mr. Potter. What nightly activities occur during our time together is entirely up to you. Remember, Ginevra."
"Arsehole," Harry growled, easily maneuvering and twisting his arm out of Riddle's tight hold. "I have a Snitch to catch. I will see you tonight." He walked down the dark corridor, feeling the eyes on him and tasting just a teasing hint of Riddle's enticing magic.
As painful as it was to admit, he wanted to embrace in that magic once more.
. . & Darkness . .
Riding on a broom resurrected a sliver of the old Harry Potter.
He couldn't resist it, this innocent and pure exhilaration. It didn't help matters that the whole stadium felt the same. All their emotions melded together into one, cohesive blur of drunken excitement. It was a bit overwhelming, but when emotions all tended to mirror each other in such a positive way, it was easier for Harry to absorb and block.
However, there were always twangs of taint he would experience riding around the stadium. Always some dark emotion that triggered his attention. But he'd gotten used to experiencing such things, and with Riddle's help with Occlumency, his dark urges weren't pressing him to react immediately.
Immediately was the key word. His eyes did linger on the sections that harbored especially tainted individuals. However, as soon as the game started, he forced his attention on his team.
He raced around the perimeter of the Pitch at breakneck speed, loving it, needing this. Beneath him, the crowd grew wild and he was glad Oliver Wood strongly suggested adults only. The booze was flowing a bit too much and the amount of violence both teams executed, especially the Slytherins, was astounding. The two referees hardly called any fouls, though Oliver instructed them to make just a slight ruckus for the fans.
Harry smirked as he flew over the crowd.
Hermione had been right. There were many people wearing his old uniform. He even spotted his old teammates in the section reserved for professional athletes who'd come to cheer on and support their respected teammates. Harry had flown close to their proximity, earning a near-deafening cheer of encouragement.
Amusing, really, how much he'd missed this ridiculousness.
Another thing he noticed was the sheer amount of Krum uniforms in the stands. Well, that certainly wouldn't do. Harper was the Slytherin Seeker and Krum wouldn't see the Pitch unless something put Harper out of the game. Not only did Harry want the fans to get their money's worth, but most importantly, he wanted to show them that Krum wasn't as unbeatable as he appeared.
It was far more of a challenge, anyway. Harper had never posed as much of a threat during their time at Hogwarts.
Therefore, he had the task of getting rid of Harper. Considering the man tailed Harry like glue, it should be quite easy.
As soon as Slytherin scored their second consecutive goal, Harry suddenly directed his broom into the throng of players. He zigzagged through the action, dodging Bludgers and flustered Chasers. Everything became a blur as he maneuvered smoothly through the chaos.
"Potter has caught sight of the Snitch!" Lee Jordan roared over the intercom.
Ignoring the roar of both delight and disappointment, Harry dived. The wind tore at his hair and cloak, sending them whipping behind him. Harper followed close behind and Harry only pushed faster, further, steeper, encouraging the man to keep up with him.
Sick glee tore through him as he descended. He angled his broom as steep as it could go without making an idiot of himself and falling off. From the corner of his eye, he saw the Bludger race towards him. Without overcompensating, Harry maneuvered just to the right of it, feeling it breeze directly next to his cheek.
He descended. Harper followed.
The ground came up quickly and Harry pulled up just inches from the ground, dangling his arm down and brushing the grass with his fingers. Behind him, a spasm of severe shock originated from Harper before nothing as a body collided heavily with the ground.
Silence from the audience before they erupted with uninhabited cheers and shrieks of exhilaration.
Yes, Harry thought smugly, he still had it.
"And Potter performs a bloody wicked Wronski Feint! Unbelievable! Harper is out!" Referee whistles tore through the Pitch, desperately trying to sound over the unbridled crowd as they halted the game and took Harper out on a stretcher.
Harry lazily twirled his way up into the air. He supposed he should feel something akin to pity for Harper. The man had hit the ground at an alarming rate, but Harry had intended as much. As he stopped a good distance in the air, he watched through lowered lids as Harper disappeared and another green-clad Quidditch player took his place.
"Krum is in the game!"
Harry's smile grew larger, like a cat who'd swallowed his prey.
"The two youngest Seekers of our time will face off! One has to wonder if Potter had this up his sleeve!"
"Incredible," Ginny yelled as she came to an abrupt halt next to Harry. Her red hair settled in a wild halo around her flushed face. "It's like you never left the game, Harry!"
Harry simply grinned, his attention immediately turning to Krum. The stadium was at full volume as the Quidditch legend bypassed the group of huddling Slytherin players and made his way up toward Harry. His heavyset brows and curved nose immediately came into focus as he advanced like an overgrown bird.
"Harry Potter," he said in his thick, Bulgarian accent. "It is a pleasure to finally play opposite of you."
"Viktor Krum. Likewise," Harry contested, shaking the offered hand.
He didn't want to say anything cliché like he followed every step of Viktor Krum's Quidditch career, but he had. The man was a brilliant Seeker and an equally great flyer. It was understandable that Harry would find interest watching Krum's performances. After all, Quidditch was Harry's line of work.
The two Seekers spoke no further, as they both acknowledged a worthy opponent whom they looked forward to destroy.
The game eventually resumed.
Gryffindor was down 70 to 110. The sheer number of Blatching and Blurting fouls grew too frequent for the referees to ignore. It appeared as if the Gryffindors were growing flustered at the fouls and began to play dirty themselves. Harry kept an eye out on his team while also monitoring Krum. Unlike Harper, the Bulgarian did not tail Harry.
It was far more of a challenge. He always did prefer a challenge.
Krum made Harry work. Occasionally, they'd fly side by side and twist through the commotion on the Pitch. Krum was just as fast as Harry was and just as tight with his maneuvers as Harry. His pulse raced as he competed with the Bulgarian, wondering when the last time he felt so alive doing something so mundane and innocent.
Everything fell away at that moment. Stratton, Riddle, the torture with his parents, Custos, Braun, Regbo, the Empathy. All of it. It just trickled away as if he'd never been burdened a day in his life.
If he hadn't been so hell-bent on revenge after his parents' murders, he firmly believed he would have recovered with Quidditch. Perhaps, had he given Quidditch more time after the disaster, he would have never taken the path of Custos. He wondered then, a brief, fleeting thought, if he could put everything behind him and try to start anew.
Without killing, without games.
But then he realized Custos was so ingrained on his person, on his very core, that he could never shake that side of himself. Off the Pitch, he wouldn't be able to stop the dark instincts and the sheer depravity of hunting down the tainted.
No, it was too late for him.
As much as he wanted it to, the realization did not disappoint him in the least.
Harry circled around the Pitch, identifying Krum directly across from him. The Bulgarian had his eyebrows set, a type of determined expression he normally reserved when he spotted the Snitch. Harry knew that look. He'd seen it on the man during previous matches just before he curled his fingers over the golden ball.
A small, golden flash caught Harry's eye.
It danced tauntingly in the middle of the Pitch, as if aware of both Seekers' attention.
In a flurry of crimson robes, Harry dived, racing towards his target. If the Snitch stayed where it was, Harry and Krum would collide headfirst. And as soon as the thought occurred to him, the Snitch twitched and lowered nearer to the ground, closer to Krum.
Harry pressed himself flat against his broom and urged it to go faster.
Krum was going to bloody get it, he recognized. Fortunately, the Snitch came to an abrupt halt and danced away from Krum and toward Harry. It then dodged back to Krum again, torn over which direction to go.
Harry and Krum analyzed each other while closing in on the Snitch. Neither of them made the move to divert away from their course, a course that would end in a harmful collision. Unfortunately for Krum, Harry did not plan to pull up from his dive. He intended to get that damn Snitch, if only because Riddle supported Krum so bloody much.
Krum pushed harder. Harry pushed faster. Because he was the lighter male, he would undoubtedly receive more damage from the collision.
They closed in, and in the last second, the Snitch jerked upward. Harry's superior reflexes honed in on the golden Snitch and he made a grab for it just before Krum collided with him. Harry had lifted himself marginally so their heads wouldn't crack open, but in doing so, Krum's hulking shoulders lifted him from his broom.
His lithe body tumbled over Krum and flew through the air.
Fortunately, he wasn't so far up that the fall would knock him unconscious. He forced himself not to tumble acrobatically and land like a skilled combater, though it took a great deal of effort to do so. His fall to the ground was painful, his entire body protesting against the clumsy tumble.
He gazed across at Krum, pleased to find the Seeker off his broom as well. The other man looked around wildly before settling on Harry. His eyes widened as Harry stood and threw his arm in the air. Between his fingers, the Snitch fluttered enthusiastically. The crowd roared, yet Harry remained oblivious to them and Lee Jordan's commentary.
He was far more preoccupied with the sudden shift of atmosphere.
Lowering his arm, his smile faltered. Goose bumps raced down his arms and the hairs on the back of his neck stood. Something so foul filled the air and Harry gagged, stumbling. His eyes darted around, ignoring the cheering and the smiling faces of both his teammates and fans.
Did they not feel it? Sense it?
"Potter!" Krum roared, strutting over. "Good game." The man struck out a hand and Harry could barely see it in his haze. "Potter?" he inquired, concerned. "You don't look well."
Harry's fingers opened up around the Snitch as a horrible taint, unlike anything he'd ever experienced before, closed in on him. Screams suddenly broke through the stands and Harry spied the frayed black figure drifting amongst the fans. A Dementor. Four of them, he realized. They were on opposite ends of the Pitch, their presence alone creating havoc.
They did not stray near the fans; however, they seemed to be drifting quickly in Harry's direction.
Harry's knees trembled before they buckled. He vomited on the ground, his Empathy ability utterly overwhelmed. Taint. So much taint. He could hear things he couldn't make sense of; screaming, crying, cruel laughter. Dementors made common victims relive their worse memories, but what would they do to an Empath?
Harry had never considered what would happen if he encountered a Dementor. He realized now, as they drifted towards him, that they were moving containers for several tainted souls. Criminal souls. Black souls. The worse sort of taint imaginable, all in one entity.
He could hear horrible memories that were not his own, but belonging to those that dwelled within the Dementors' bellies. Never before had Harry felt so hopeless, so weak. His legs did not move and he could do nothing but shudder and tremble, reverting to the state he was just after his parents' death.
Someone pulled at his arm, to try to get him to move, but Harry stayed rooted to the spot. Emotions overwhelmed him, choked him, and destabilized him. His throat was raw from screaming, and his eyes had shut long ago, yet he knew the Dementors were close. He doubted he'd ever come out of this sane.
Soon, the cold and the taint grew intolerable.
He slipped unconscious, utterly unaware of the stunned observation of Kingsley Shacklebolt.